


Gratitude

by SkysongMA



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Hermann and Newt being ridiculous, M/M, Mako and Stacker being the best family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkysongMA/pseuds/SkysongMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world didn’t end, Newt had a vision as soon as Hermann prompted him for a hug in LOCCENT. They would both get roaringly drunk, as they often did, only this time it would finally work. Really. They had <i>Drifted</i>. Could there be a better pick-up line?</p><p>And then Hermann tried to bug off from the partying, and Newt’s brain sort of shut down because he couldn’t imagine Hermann not wanting the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gatsbyparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatsbyparty/gifts).



> Not quite sure if this was what the gift-ee was looking for but I tried? D:

The Russians got all the booze for the Shatterdome, but Tendo was the one who started parties—raves in the Jaeger bay, keggers in the mess hall, even a haunted house that stretched from the med bay to the K-science division.  

 

Usually, Hermann didn’t stick around for these. He’d stump off, grumbling about his leg, and Newt would get really drunk so he didn’t have to think about how often he considered smooching Hermann goddamn Gottlieb.

 

Because it really was an embarrassing amount.

 

But this time, Hermann stuck around. Why, Newt couldn’t quite remember—some big mathy breakthrough, probably. And it turned out that Hermann could hold his liquor like a champ. He got into a shot war with Aleksis and only lost because he knocked the last shot off the table.

 

At some point, Newt ended up in the corner, passing a bottle of Stolichnaya back and forth. When it was empty—which didn’t take long because there hadn’t been much in it to start with—both of them agreed it was far too much work to go get another one.

 

Newt knew Hermann was super-drunk because he didn’t complain when Newt set his head on Hermann’s shoulder—not necessarily trying to cuddle, but just because holding his head up was also too much work.

 

At some point, and Newt swore it was prompted by something natural in their conversation, though he couldn’t remember what it was for the life of him, Newt said, “You have the dumbest face, man. Like it should not be attractive at all.”

 

“It isn’t,” said Hermann. “Thank you for reminding me. I really needed that.”

 

And Newt had managed to lift his head off Hermann’s shoulder so he could glare. “Dude. Your face is like—like I could smooch it forever. ‘Cause it’s weird. And I like weird.”

 

Long story short, Herman pushed him into the wall, and they kissed for like fifteen minutes, and it turned out that Hermann goddamn Gottlieb was the world’s best kisser—cautious and pushy at the same time.

 

And teeth. He used his teeth really well.

 

And that was _important_ , and Newt had every intention of telling Hermann so, except at some point he fell asleep and woke up alone, and the next morning Hermann picked a fight with him before Newt could find a way to say _that was probably the awesomest thing that ever happened to me, please can we do it forever and ever._

_***_

 

When the world didn’t end, Newt had a vision as soon as Hermann prompted him for a hug in LOCCENT. They would both get roaringly drunk, as they often did, only this time it would finally work. Really. They had _Drifted._ Could there be a better pick-up line?

 

And then Hermann tried to bug off from the partying, and Newt’s brain sort of shut down because he couldn’t imagine Hermann not wanting the same thing.

 

“What the hell, man?” he said, blocking Hermann’s path. “I know you can drink everyone under the table, so why don’t you just turn around and help me beat Tendo at beer pong?”

 

It was not what he meant to say, but Newt was used to that. Most of his conversations with Hermann were attempts to get to _please make out with me_ , but they always got derailed way before they could get to that point, because Hermann had a stupid face and Newt liked yelling at it.

 

Hermann glared at him. “Please get out of the way, Newton. I am tired and sore, and I want to go to bed.”

 

Newt put his hands on his hip. “Y’know, it was okay to not-talk about the whole ‘you saving my life’ thing when we were both going to get roaring drunk and go back to work in the morning pretending none of this ever happened, but that only works if you play ball.”

 

Hermann looked away. “Newton—”

 

“Oh, okay. So you want to not-talk about this the way we not-talk about that one time Tendo brought Jello shots and we made out—and don’t tell me you don’t remember that, because I saw it in your head.” He nodded. “Got it. Right.”

 

Hermann huffed. “Yes. Exactly like that. It seems to work for us, so let’s just—carry on. Go. Enjoy yourself. Take body shots off Tendo. I don’t care. Just get out of my way.”

 

Newt held up his hands. “All right, man, if that’s what you want.” He raised his eyebrows.

 

But apparently the whole Drift-telepathy thing was hooey, because Hermann just raised his eyebrows back, and Hermann was a much better eyebrow-raiser.

 

Newt sighed and stepped out of the way.

 

***

 

Needless to say, the non-conversation put a serious damper on Newt’s ability to enjoy himself, and he found himself heading off to bed while everyone else was still living it up—which, really, was just disgusting because how many times did you get to celebrate the end of the world?

 

And Newt was stuck thinking about _Hermann._

 

Ugh.

 

***

 

At about two in the morning, Newt couldn’t take lying in bed any longer, and he marched down the hall to Hermann’s room.

 

Hermann, to his surprise, answered the door before Newt could even knock. “Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows in that way that was infuriating and sort of cute at the same time.

 

Newt shooed him into the room, and Hermann huffed and let him inside. Hermann sat on the bed, and Newt paced back and forth, basically throwing his thoughts at the ceiling. “So, yeah, sorry, but I can’t just pretend that we didn’t just mush our brains together to save the world, because that seems _kind of important okay_ , like _really fucking significant_ , and I’m sorry but I don’t feel like burying that like you bury every important thing that has ever happened between us ever and—” He ran out of breath and settled for glaring at Hermann in a way that he hoped looked significant.

 

Hermann sighed, opening and closing the button on the cuff of his pajamas—and of course he wore pajamas with cuffs because who didn’t do that.

 

Oh. Yeah. NORMAL PEOPLE.

 

“What do you want, Newton?” said Hermann at last, quietly.

 

Newt blinked. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

 

Hermann’s lips parted. Then he let out a slow breath. His eyes were grave. “I mean that I was inside that mess you call a mind, and I still don’t know what you’re looking for out of—this.” He gestured at the space between them the way he usually gestured at kaiju excreta on his side of the lab. Newt looked at him blankly, and Hermann sighed. “Do you know why I never bring up the one time we kissed?”

 

Newt shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away. “Well, I always assumed you were just—embarrassed, or whatever. Since it ruined your spotless reputation for having no feelings.”

 

Hermann shook his head. “No. It is because I realized—I realized that I do not want to be your… bit on the side, Newton.” He looked away, a faint blush touching his cheeks. “I care about you, and I will not settle for less from you just because—because I want it. If you don’t feel the same way, then I’d rather wash my hands of you and find someone who does.”

 

Fuck. Newt opened his mouth and closed it again.

 

Hermann sighed, and the worst part was that he didn’t sound at all surprised. “Let me go back to bed, Newton. Both of us will have plenty of work to do in the morning.”

 

“Hey, no—” Newt pressed his palm to his forehead. “Look, I don’t—fuck.” Hermann frowned at him, and Newt let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, if you want an enumerated goddamn list of all the reasons I want to make out with you, then I am sorry, I cannot give it to you. My head doesn’t work like that. I just kind of like—like _shit_ , I mean, did you miss that we basically had the same life?” He realized he was pacing and did not stop himself. “Like, the things I saw in your head—I mean, I always kind of thought we were opposites, and that’s why I liked you, but we are exactly the freaking _same_.”

 

He stopped and looked at Hermann. “I mean, that freaks me the fuck out but it’s also really awesome? And I kind of just wanted to take advantage of that awesomeness before we, like, let it disappear or whatever. I mean, for crying out loud! You just saved my fucking life! And the only way I can really think of to thank you is to kiss you until we both pass out or something.”

 

He let out his breath, finally, and waited for Hermann to say something.

 

Hermann drummed his fingers on his leg. His brows were furrowed, but Newt thought it was anxiety, not displeasure. At last, he said, “Come here, Newton.”

 

Newt huffed. “Dude, the least you could do is call me Newt.”

 

He shook his head, but a smile flicked across his face at the same time, and Newt felt better for it. “Newt, then. Come here.” He patted the space beside him.

 

Newt obeyed, and Hermann looked him in the face. For a second, Newt thought Hermann was going to do nothing more than that, but then Hermann cupped his face in one hand and kissed him, soft and slow and sweet.

 

It was even awesomer when they weren’t both smashed.

 

“There,” said Hermann, and turned his face away. “You have your kiss.”

 

Newt grabbed the collar of Hermann’s pajamas—because they also had a collar, and what the _fuck_ —and pulled Hermann’s face back to his. “Hey. I’m supposed to be thanking _you_.” He leaned in and stopped. “And I mean, I’m sorry I don’t want to make it any more complicated than that right now, but _goddammit_. I, like, ran over half of Hong Kong, I got a switchblade stuck up my nose, and I was almost eaten twice by basically the same goddamn monster. So, like, no, I can’t talk about feelings right now, but that doesn’t… that doesn’t mean I don’t have them. I am just—wrung out right now.”

 

Hermann glanced away, but Newt allowed that because it was clear he was thinking hard. Newt could feel it, the way he felt it when someone walked into the room while he was sleeping. “You’re right,” Hermann said at last, and his lips twitched. “It’s not fair of me to ask you for something serious when you’ve been through so much today.”

 

“So what do you want to do?” said Newt, when Hermann didn’t speak again for a moment.

 

Herman met his eyes once more. “Thank me, and then… then I think we should both get some sleep.”

 

“As long as by ‘sleep’ you mean I get to cuddle obnoxiously with you, I am sold.”

 

Hermann let out a breathy sigh. “If you must.”

 

Newt thought about saying something to that, but then he remembered that Hermann wanted Newt to kiss him, and that was way more important.

 

 


	2. Chin Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako thought the world of Stacker. He thought the same of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELP ME I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS WORKS
> 
> Anyway, this is the request for Mako-and-Stacker cuteness?

 After Tokyo, there was a press conference, because there was always a press conference. Stacker knew the job, so he didn’t complain, but he could see the toll it was taking on Mako, and no one else seemed to care.

 

He hadn’t properly spoken to the girl yet; he’d been in the hospital with Tamsin, waiting for her to wake up and riding out the effects of piloting alone. When he walked over to her, she looked up at him in shock, her eyes wide. He knelt. It still didn’t put him quite on her eye level, but at least they were closer. “Miss Mori.”

 

She nodded and dipped her head in a quick, nervous bow.

 

“Chin up. Shoulders back. Show them what you’re made of.”

 

Her eyes widened; she glanced up at his face, surprised.

 

***

 

When the conference started, the Prime Minister gave Mako a medal and asked her what she was going to do now.

 

She thought for a moment. Stacker thought her gaze might have turned in his direction, just for  a moment. Then she put her shoulders back and spoke clearly into the microphone. “I want to become a pilot and kill kaiju. I want to kill them all.”

 

Stacker felt a ridiculous sort of pride.

 

***

 

People seemed to keep losing track of her; she was small and quick and didn’t like being in the public eye any more than Stacker did.

 

He found her hidden in one of the waiting rooms in the hospital, curled up in a chair with her face pressed to her knees. Her shoulders shook.

 

Stacker did not speak; he settled into the chair next to hers and waited.

 

When she noticed him, she gasped and quickly looked out the window, wiping at her eyes.

 

“Is something wrong, Miss Mori?”

 

She bit her lip, her chin trembling.

 

Stacker let out a slow breath, trying to find another way in. She idolized him, and honestly he didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t know how to feel about anything. Tamsin hadn’t yet woken up, and Coyote Tango had been decommissioned.

 

“It’s hard, having so many people think you’re famous,” said Stacker at last. “Everyone wants to hear you speak, but no one wants to listen to what you have to say.”

 

Her eyes flicked to him, wide and dark. Then, quietly, “The rest of my family doesn’t want me.”

 

Stacker’s eyes widened. He almost reached out to put an arm around her—she was so small, so alone. But he didn’t want to startle her more.

 

And she continued speaking on her own, the words tumbling from her lips like she had been holding them back all day. “They called me, and they said they don’t want me. They think I’m bad luck.” She wiped at her eyes again; this time her movements were sharp, angry. “They didn’t want me before, either—they said my father was stupid to keep a girl, that I would never be a good swordmaker.”

 

Stacker settled back in his chair. After a moment, he said, “My family never thought I would come to much, either.” She looked up at him, shocked, and Stacker nodded. “I got into trouble when I was younger—made friends with the wrong people, got myself in so deep I couldn’t see my way out. My sister Luna, she was the soldier. She was the one who saw the right path and took it.”

 

“But you figured it out, didn’t you?”

 

Stacker nodded.

 

“How?”

 

“I listened to the people who loved me, not the people who thought I wasn’t good for anything.”

 

Her lips parted in surprise. Then she nodded thoughtfully, pulling her knees back up to her chest so she could rest her cheek on them.

 

***

 

Tamsin was still unconscious because of the cocktail of chemotherapy drugs they had already started her on.

 

Stacker picked up her hand and squeezed it. “They’ve asked me to be the Marshal at the Anchorage ‘dome,” he told her softly. He knew she could hear him, somewhere; he felt her mind like a warm back against his in the middle of the night. “I’m going to go, and I’m going to take Mako with me.”

 

He let out a slow breath. “I know what you’ll say. You’ll ask me what a girl like that is going to do, shuffled between ‘domes her whole life. Where is she going to fit in?” He lowered his head. “I don’t know. But she needs someone to give her a chance, just like you and Luna gave me a chance. I’ve got to do that. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

 

He pressed Tamsin’s hand to his cheek, just to feel her, warm and alive. He kept waking up from nightmares where she’d died in the Drift, where she’d slipped away where he couldn’t follow.

 

“She’ll be a fine girl,” he said at last. “You’ll like her. She’ll make you proud of what we did.”

 

***

 

Finding paperwork to adopt Mako was surprisingly easy. No one seemed to know what to do with her. They were all eager to hold her up as a symbol, but they didn’t know what to do with the small human reality who still had to be put to sleep with drugs lest she wake up screaming for her parents.

 

He found her in a different waiting room this time, probably because the other one was full of parents with small children. She was looking down at a magazine with her face on the cover, staring as though she didn’t recognize it.

 

He knelt in front of her, just as he had at the press conference. This time, because of the chair, they actually were level with each other. “Miss Mori.”

 

She dipped her head in a little bow, holding the magazine against her chest.

 

“I know that you cannot stay with your family. Would you like to live with me?”

 

Her eyes widened; she hugged the magazine so tightly that the pages rustled. “I don’t want to be  a burden,” she whispered.

 

“You won’t be. We’re going to learn, you and I. I’m going to learn command, and you are going to learn everything you can, so that I can send you to the Jaeger Academy as soon as you’re old enough. Would you like that?”

 

She pressed her face into the magazine, her shoulders shaking. Stacker got to his feet and waited.

 

Finally, Mako uncovered her face. “Please,” she whispered. “I would like that very much.”

 

“Good,” said Stacker, and he stepped back so she could get out of the chair and stand beside him. She was curled up around the magazine, her eyes still wet with tears. Stacker knelt again so he could look into them. “Chin up. Shoulders back.”


End file.
